


The Temple

by orphan_account



Series: poe stuff [1]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: A+ Parenting, Aumaua Watcher, Bullying, Gen, cruel teenagers, death godlike watcher - Freeform, followers are mentioned, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 01:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: just a glimpse into death godlike's past.





	The Temple

**Author's Note:**

> english is not my native language and i love making my characters suffer
> 
> mwah

"You're as ugly as a rotten skuldr!"  
  
"Look, look, her arms look like tree trunks! Just as fat and twisted!"  
  
She snarls and turns to face her bullies. They just laugh in her face, a tightly-knit pack of scavengers, exercising their wit on her. She picks a rock she's been playing with minutes before and makes a show of aiming it right into one of the boys' foreheads. The group gasps and steps back.  
  
"At least I don't talk like a deranged xaurip," she spits back and turns away, making her way down the rocky path she was previously exploring.  
  
"You_ bitch!_" hearing this, she slows down her steps, half curious and half revolted at what she might hear next. "It seems that the broom your father broke against your back wasn't enough, huh?!"  
  
That stings. More than she's willing to admit. Father did beat her up just a week ago, and as soon as she was able, she went for a "walk" again, even before breakfast so she wouldn't see how Mother's face twists in emotion she's not ready to understand every time she looks at her. She's so hungry, ravenous, even, and her stomach growls, twisting painfully: she hasn't eaten the previous evening too, afraid to show herself to Father who promised to rip her mask off the next time she breaks the rules of their household. She just wanted to catch a fish near the shore, or maybe a crab, or something, just a little bit something that'll soothe her hunger so she can continue on living the day.  
  
"Relax, Kikē, it's not like she can do anything," someone else says, their voice mocking, cruel in a way only teenagers can master. "If her Father knows, and I'll make sure he knows, he'll hang her by her horns in the tower square."  
  
Before jumping down a huge rock that shields her hiding spot from other people's gaze, she hears muted laughter, agreement written all over the sound; the noise of ten feet stepping away to cause mayhem somewhere else.  
  
She wouldn't cry. Tears get in the way of her sight, and she can't allow that, not when she's descending the slippery tricky slope, she thinks stubbornly even as her throat constricts in telltale sign of incoming hysteria. Slippery pebbles slurp under her bare feet; she feels silt between her toes. It feels so much better than hunger. Cool salty water, dirt and seaweed; the scents of her youth that make her even hungrier for something alive to dig her teeth in. She sees movement; turns fast just in time to see a big fish splash in tide pool. A decision is made even before she moves her feet, and she jumps into action immediately. The taste of raw fish and the feeling of cold, sticky blood running down her face never was so satisfying. After eating she feels sick, and that's just _unfair,_ just like everything about her life is; she swallows the vomit, stubbornly refusing to part with only food she got in almost two days. After a couple of minutes of fighting her own body's protective urges, she sets down to think what to do next.  
  
She's still hungry, still scared, still lonely and terribly neglected, she knows as much, and she wants nothing more than a friendly touch. For a second she thinks about feeding her neighbours a Berath bell tart; the berries smell delicious, promise a sweet taste, but are deadly poisonous. Unfortunately for people, they usually realize it _after_ eating. She discards that idea after she thinks of collecting berries: she'd need thick gloves, and she has none and no-one to borrow them from. She decides to visit her Uncle in the Temple. Last time she got the beating exactly for this. She just has to be stealthier this time, even if it means the longer path. She looks up; the sun has just begun to ascend in the sky, but it's rays feel hot on her skin, making the blood dry.  
  
She smiles, thinking that she's the smartest person on the whole Eora.

* * *

  
  
The Temple smells just as comforting as before, weak candlelight soothing as Mother's touch never could. She sees the familiar shrine, adorned with rows of keys, bones and old, rancid wax. Incense burns with cloying sweetness. She feels like home. Her uncle's burned hands appear near her, then, his entire form, clad in Berath blacks. She smiles at him as he frowns, leading her back to the entrance by her shoulder.  
  
"You shouldn't be here," he says, worrying his lower lip with his teeth; she notices for the first time that one of them is missing.  
  
"But why? Uncle, I don't wanna go home," she protests, digs her dirty feet into stone floor. "They hate me."  
  
He sighs, stops, then lowers himself to her level, which isn't as low as it has been mere weeks ago; she grows so _fast_.  
  
"I know this, child, but you can't run to Berath's temple every time you have problems with your parents," the way Uncle says this isn't strict, but rather tethered with sadness. "It looks..."  
  
"How does it look, then? Can't I go to the only place where people don't look at me as if I'm as hideous as the death itself?" Uncle looks surprised she knows such words; understandable, considering she hasn't been to scholars in months.  
  
He sighs again, defeated. "You can, but I'm worried. I know my brother too well."  
  
"And I know his fists too well."  
  
Uncle hides his face in his palms, rubbing over his eyes, and says something else, different subject entirely; she knows he's trying to distract her from her worries, and it doesn't work as intented, but she pretends, listening quietly. Her own thoughts race through her head like courier carriages. She thinks about the walk home, earth, dust and pebbles hot because of sun's merciless rays, and the way people will stare at her, dirty, tired, _wrong_...

* * *

  
  
She wakes up sweating and thrashing in her bedroll, surrounded by all of her companions, looks of similar concern written all over their faces.  
  
"Narith, are you alright?"  
  
"Was that another of your dreams?"  
  
"Here, drink this...."  
  
She raises her hand. They fall silent.  
  
"I don't think it concerns you," she answers, stoic as usual. "It wasn't a glimpse of my previous lives, it was just a memory."  
  
Concerned eyes warily study her, but as soon as she gives them a level look, the wrinkles between their brows smooth.  
  
"Huh," says Kana quietly after some time, "So whose name that was?"  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"Isidola?"  
  
Narith freezes. Words get stuck in her mouth, stubborn, refusing to leave, but. She manages to swallow through the lump in her throat, even smiles a little, as if remembering something particularly pleasant.  
  
"He was my uncle," she corrects herself quickly, "Is my uncle. Pretty sure old bugger's not dead yet."  
  
Memories of the man are always bittersweet.


End file.
